A Spectrum
by Casbee
Summary: Perhaps this golden-haired boy didn't like him, or just didn't want to shake his hand. 'Maybe the tie was too off-putting,' Castiel wondered. He silently cursed himself for picking such a bold yellow; he much preferred pastels anyway. No, no, he was overthinking this. - - - In which Dean Winchester's lab partner at his new school is a seventeen-year-old autistic boy named Castiel.
1. Prologue

As he sat in the back of his chemistry class while his teacher explained the assignment for the umpteenth time, Dean Winchester found himself actually _missing_ Catholic school, and it wasn't even lunch yet. Going to church three times a week on top of a religious education class every other day seemed like Heaven in comparison to this new kind of Hell. Dean found himself having trouble wrapping his head around the idea that some two-thousand or so people were _voluntarily_ attending this school, which he very recently nicknamed, "Satan's _[insert profanity of choice]_". St. Mary's was an annoying school, but Dean had a stinking suspicion that his new life at Thomas Hobbes High School would somehow land him in jail. He wasn't a troublemaker per-say; Hobbes High simply gave off strong vibes in the law-bending region, from the countless security guards stationed throughout the building to the pungent smell of what could either be very strong body odor, or marijuana.

At the famously homophobic, first-in-conservatism-last-in-education St. Mary's, Dean had been expelled for conducting a very important, VERY legitimate science experiment called, "Is it possible to get kicked out of a school for publicly kissing a boy on the last day of school?". Unsurprisingly, the results were mostly pointing towards a definite 'yes'.

Though it hurt to be dragged down to the principal's office and put to face his father's look of disappointment was, Dean knew the joy of watching his teacher's face go white as a sheet was worth the pain.

Or so he had thought.

He had pulled the stunt on the last day during the end-of-the-year church service, with the whole school crammed inside the tiny chapel. His (now ex) boyfriend, Benny, had been a bit wary of the idea, but he had eventually succumbed to Dean's 'oh-so-scientific' reasoning, though he regretted it later when they were hauled out of church and, eventually, expelled. Dean laughed at the ridiculous idea of getting expelled on the last day of school, but he quickly stopped laughing after he was informed that he wouldn't be attending the next year either.

Benny wasn't laughing either.

Later on, Dean received a very annoyed phone call, confirming that he was most definitely dumped. He had seen it coming, but he still had a shred of hope that he would not be expelled, grounded by his father, and broken up with in the same afternoon. Of course, that was exactly what had happened.

After a long, angst-ridden summer, suddenly, Dean felt like he was back in kindergarten, being led by hand into the building by his father, who was worried sick about how his son would handle the school. Except this time, Dean wasn't nervous about whether or not he had remembered to bring all of his crayons, or if his shoes were going to come untied. Instead, his goal was to make it through the day without getting mugged in the hallways.

At St. Mary's, little spurts of insane behavior popped up maybe two to three times a year—like two boys smooching it up during church. Here, in Hobbes High, it seemed as though insane behavior was a norm. Dean could have sworn that he witnessed a drug deal on the way in, along with several public-displays-of-affection that could be classified as public-displays-of-something-far-beyond-affection, and most _certainly_ beyond sanitary. When he had first heard that his father was sending him to Hobbes High, he was relieved that there would be no uniforms, as the white button-ups and navy blue pants of St. Mary's were getting a little old. However, when he caught sight of what these students wore on a daily basis, Dean saw many reasons as to why a dress code would be necessary in the first place. Boys everywhere sported jeans sagging so low that Dean could easily point out what brand of underwear they wore, and freshman girls wore shirts with necklines so low that, if he wasn't an atheist, he might be tempted to consult his bible. Maybe he was old-fashioned, or maybe he just wasn't used to it yet, but one thing was sure: he felt weirdly indecent just being present in the building. It was like watching a raunchy movie with his dad.

"Are we gonna do the icebreaker or…?"

Dean was suddenly jerked from his thoughts at the voice, and he abruptly dropped the pen he had been fiddling with. "Sorry, what?" He asked as he glanced up at the person who spoke, then did a double-take.

This guy, who Dean assumed to be his lab partner, was a real piece of work. Dark, black-brown hair stuck up in unusual places on his head, as if he had just gotten out of bed. No doubt, from the way this guy looked, he probably just did. He wore a white button-up, which looked fairly decent—besides the endless wrinkles—and a yellow and black tie with cartoon bees on it. This combination may have worked out if the tie hadn't been tied so messily, and it hadn't been put on backwards. The ensemble was completed with black slacks, one of those plastic, digital kids' watches with a two overlapping Star Wars lightsabers on it (the time reading 1:53 am) a (currently orange) mood ring, and rectangular, black-rimmed eyeglasses. Out of all of the outfits Dean had evaluated today, this one took the cake. He wasn't much of a fashion critic, but if looks could kill…

"The icebreaker," the boy repeated, his voice low and hesitant, as he held up a paper that had been passed out. "Do you want me to go first?"

"Uh, go ahead," Dean replied, though he hadn't processed a word that just came out of the boy's mouth. He turned his attention back to the profane carvings on his desk to avoid staring for any longer.

The boy paused and looked over the paper with directions. "I'm Castiel Novak," he said, holding out a tentative hand for Dean to shake. He put on his best smile and waited for his lab partner to return the gesture, but he must not have noticed, as he was still staring at the desk. Castiel licked his lips nervously, his smile faltering. All this morning he had anticipated having to introduce himself to everyone, and he had even practiced in the mirror. He had mulled over all possible scenarios of what could go wrong, and what he would do to recover. Castiel had not, however, thought he would meet someone who appeared to be more socially awkward than himself.

Perhaps this golden-haired boy didn't like him, or just didn't want to shake his hand. _'Maybe the tie was too off-putting,' _Castiel wondered. He silently cursed himself for picking such a bold yellow; he much preferred pastels anyway.

No, no, he was overthinking this.

Defeated, Castiel dropped his offered hand and set it on the desk, drumming his fingers lightly in hopes of getting this boy's attention; it was to no avail. The guy seemed to be spaced-out nearly all of the time, and Castiel had noticed from the moment he walked into class. No doubt, by the description, this was the 'new kid' that Balthazar had been talking about earlier that morning. Then again, he was more so gossiping about an apparent 'scandal' at a catholic school that had gotten him expelled, though from the sound of it, the act wasn't worthy of a scandalous title. Now, Castiel was glad he had eavesdropped on the conversation so he could place a name: Dean. Dean was a bit weird with maybe a side of douchebag, but Castiel couldn't help but feel a shred of sympathy for him. Word got around fast at Hobbes High, so the story of the 'scandal' had probably reached the teachers within hours.

"Are you new here?" Castiel asked, unable to resist any longer.

This quickly got Dean's attention. He sat upright and turned to Castiel with a face full of confusion and perhaps suspicion. "How did you know?" He fired back. Apparently, he was also the type to answer a question with a question.

"You're white," Castiel answered at once, as if it were obvious.

Dean frowned, "So you knew I was new because I'm a white guy?"

Self-consciously, Castiel glanced at his hand, the ring on his finger turning a bright orange-red color. Hastily, he took off the ring and held it up for Dean to see. "You're white," he repeated, "Confused, dazed, uncertain of your surroundings." He set the mood ring on the table.

Dean glanced from the ring to his lab partner, then back again. Not only did this guy have a terrible sense of fashion, but he was apparently also insane. "Yeah, okay," Dean replied, slowly, then added, "And you're right, I'm new."

He had intentions of ending the conversation there, but Castiel persisted, "Do you like Hobbes High?"

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head in response. "Nope. It reeks and it makes me want to kill myself."

Castiel suddenly reached over and grabbed Dean tightly by his forearm. He jumped in surprise and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the boy had a stone-like grasp.

"Please don't," he whispered, his eyes wide and fixed on Dean. "We would miss you."

Dean swallowed and glanced around the room to find several students staring at them, a few whispering among themselves. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his voice low as he still tried to wrench himself out of Castiel's grip; it was like being caught in a bear trap. Helplessly, Dean looked to his classmates for explanation, but none came. Castiel then abruptly snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"Don't do that," he said, more sternly this time, his fingers squeezing Dean so hard it was starting to hurt.

"Cas, cut it out."

At the new voice, Castiel dropped his hand immediately, his face flushing a bright red.

The boy that spoke strode over to the lab table, his hands in his pockets. "Come on," he said, with a sigh, "I'm going to take you to the nurse. Did your mum forget to drop off your pills at the office?"

Castiel folded his hands in his lap and turned his attention to the floor. He shook his head.

The boy folded his arms, "Then why didn't you go during lunch?"

"I did." Castiel retorted without looking up.

A silence hung between the two that Dean couldn't decipher, before the boy plucked the mood ring from the table and crammed it on to one of Castiel's fingers. "Take your ring, we're heading to the nurse."

"I told you, I already went—"

"Good. Then we'll go to make sure that you're not lying to me."

Castiel's face went white as a sheet, apparently realizing he had been cornered, and he slowly rose to his feet. Meekly, he followed the other boy out of the class, the blond of the two giving a nod towards the teacher. Mrs. Moseley waved them off and scribbled something down on a piece of paper.

Perfect. Dean had somehow been put in a class with a crazy lab partner and his blond, douchey-looking, v-neck-wearing friend.

What a great first day of school.

For the remainder of the class, Dean mostly filed through the papers that had been handed out in the classes beforehand. About halfway through the class period, Castiel and v-neck dude returned, both boys looking much more relaxed than they were earlier. A brief jolt of fear surged through Dean as he considered the idea that they had run off to get high, but the absurd thought quickly vanished when Castiel took his seat again.

"Sorry I touched you," he said, flatly, jabbing a finger at Dean's bruised arm for emphasis. "It was inappropriate and I should keep my hands to myself."

Dean pursed his lips and shifted in his seat. These words were obviously rehearsed, as if v-neck guy or the nurse had told him exactly what to say. Though this kid was weird as hell, Dean couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. "It's fine," he muttered. "Just don't do it again."

Castiel grunted and saluted him in turn. "You're the boss."

Though Dean was tempted to reply, he shut himself up to prevent another outbreak. Besides, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel contently browsing through his textbook, giggling at what appeared to be covalent bonds; it was best to leave him alone for now.

Several minutes later, the bell chimed in dismissal, and the rest of the class flooded through the door to the hallway, Dean included. In his time alone in the science class, he decided he would plan an escape route to Guatemala so that he wouldn't have to go to school again. There was no way in hell that he could tolerate another day there.

In the midst of his planning, a familiar, grating voice came from behind. "You're Dean."

With a groan, Dean hauled his backpack out of his locker and nudged the door shut. "Yup," he replied, attempting to evade the situation by starting down the mostly-empty hallway. That is, until a firm hand reached out to his shoulder and tugged him to a stop.

"We need to talk," the boy said as he rounded to face Dean, confirming his fears; it was the douchey v-neck dude.

Dean rolled his eyes and folded his arms, but he made no move to escape again.

"Let's skip the foreplay," v-neck guy continued, "I'm Balthazar." He stuck his hand out to shake, but Dean only cocked an eyebrow. He'd be damned if he was going to trust anyone here enough to make physical contact. Balthazar got the hint pretty quickly, and he meekly lowered his hand. "We, ah, need to talk about Cassie."

Dean bit back a laugh. "Cassie? What, is he your boyfriend or something?"

Balthazar's smug look snapped into a glare and he retorted, "Step-brother, actually. And I don't swing that way." He eyed Dean up and added, "You, on the other hand, need to stop acting like you can put on that arrogant straight boy façade. Most everyone already knows about what you did at St. Mary's, so you can go ahead and cut the crap."

Dean's eyes widened and he tried to explain himself, but Balthazar cut him off right away. "I need to talk to you about Cas because this is just as new to him as it is to you. He's been going to this school for years, but this is the first time he's been ah… _nudged_ out of his comfort zone. He's been practically shadowing me his whole life but I suppose his teachers recently realized that it's not good for him." His expression suddenly grew grim, and he bowed his head in what could have been shame. "Especially considering I'm leaving for college next year… if he gets more exposure to other people now, it'll be easier for him." Seeing Dean's confused expression, Balthazar continued, "Anyway, what I'm basically saying is that he needs more friends. He's very attached to his family at the moment, to the point where he feels uncomfortable around anyone else. He's extraordinarily clingy. And look, I'm not saying that you have to be his best friend but at least be patient with him. Ask him about his meds, walk him to the nurse, sit by him at lunch sometimes, you get the gist."

Dean frowned, "Why do _I _have to do this? There are tons of other people in this school that would be way better at this than me. Plus, it's not like I'm volunteering here ."

"You're new to this school, which makes you perfect for this position; you don't know Castiel at all, and you won't have any preconceived judgement." Balthazar sighed, "He's a great kid, really. He just needs a few pushes in the right direction. The least you could do is try to introduce him to other people."

"I'll think about it," Dean said, slowly, then added, "But don't get your hopes up. I'm not making any kind of promises right off the bat, because you're still shady as fuck."

"Thank God," Balthazar breathed, hurriedly pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and holding it out to Dean. "This is his contact information. Go ahead and text him first because he's like a wet noodle when it comes to socializing. Explain who you are and… I dunno, work your charm and gay magic."

"Oh my god, I'm not gay," Dean hissed, snatching the paper from Balthazar's hands.

Balthazar chuckled, "How is Narnia doing, way back in that closet of yours?"

"That's not what I meant," he muttered. "I've had girlfriends."

Balthazar feigned shock and gasped dramatically, "I am so sorry, _princess_. How _dare_ I insult your bisexuality!"

With a huff, Dean stuffed the paper in his pocket and continued down the hall, brushing past the other boy roughly. "You're really digging a hole for yourself here, Balthy," he called over his shoulder.

"I have a nickname now, do I?" Balthazar called right back, a stupid grin smothering his stupid face, "Ooh, I'm so scared of the big bad church boy!"

A few kids in the hallway turned towards them, their eyes following the 'church boy' in question as he stormed out of the school, his face hot and red with embarrassment.

It wasn't until he reached his car that the first thoughts of, "What the fuck?" hit him.

Seriously. What the fuck.


	2. Gabriel is Not Much of a Dick

John Winchester, Dean's father, was probably the least helpful person alive when it came to matters that involved personal problems or drama, so Dean quickly ruled out the possibility of getting advice out of him. This is why, as he made his way towards his locker the next morning, his conversation with his younger brother, Sam, replayed in his head. This was not to say, however, that his advice was any better than John's could have been; he had told him, "Don't kiss anybody again," and that was about all Dean tolerated before he left the conversation.

As he weaved his way through the hordes of teenagers in the hall, Dean scanned the area for any sign of Castiel or Balthazar, but they must have had lockers in a separate wing. Slightly relieved, he pulled over to his locker and dug into his jacket pocket for his slip of paper with his schedule written down. What he found, however, was a small, torn piece of notebook paper with a phone number and an email address scribbled on it.

"Oh _shit_!" Dean said, approximately twenty times louder than intended, which caused a few heads to turn, including a tall, thin, redheaded teacher, who glared at him.

"Language, young man," she admonished, loudly, over the hollers of the other students. "This is a school environment."

Exasperated, Dean gestured to a boy pinned up against a locker by a girl who looked to be his girlfriend; she was slurping and sucking at the skin of his neck very…_pornographically_. If anything, _that_ display was inappropriate for a "school environment". The teacher seemed to get the hint, and she strode over to the couple to break them apart.

Dean smirked and fished into his locker for his binder, the paper with Castiel's number on it still tightly clenched in his hand. Now, there was no doubt that Balthazar would have found out that he neglected to text him the night before, and he wouldn't be happy about it, either. Suddenly, as Dean was closing up his locker, a small, blond boy slipped in beside him, leaning coolly against the wall.

"Dean," he said, pointedly, smiling at Dean's confusion, which soon turned into repulsion as the realization dawned on him.

A dark purple hickey was blooming on the side of the boy's neck, which he rubbed self-consciously.

"Do you actually go to this school, or was that a porn shoot going on over there?" Dean asked, nodding to where he and the girl had been previously engaged against the wall.

The boy laughed and clamped a hand on Dean's shoulder, steering him away from the locker. "I like you, Deano. You know, Cas doesn't think you're half bad either." He paused, casting a side-glance at Dean, then continued, "Which is what we need to discuss—"

"I don't wanna hear it," Dean grumbled. "Seriously. I don't know how you know him, and I don't care either. Can you please just let me go to class?"

"Sure thing, kiddo, I just gotta tell you a few things first," the boy continued, leading Dean down the hall. "Cas is my little bro. You've already met Balthazar, right? He's who you want to go to with any concerns; he knows Cas better than the rest of the family. If he isn't any help, you come to me."

Dean frowned and tried to casually shrug out of the guy's grip, but he was finding no success. "Balthazar told me to try to be his friend, not his damn babysitter."

The boy chuckled, "You sure are optimistic, Dean."

"I told you, I don't want to talk about him," Dean groaned, finally prying his shoulder out of the other's grip. "Not behind his back like this. I don't know either of you at all, so why are you suddenly—"

His question remained unanswered as a familiar, dark-haired boy approached, and tapped the other on the shoulder.

"Gabriel, where's Balthazar?" Castiel asked. He seemed far more alert and cheery than he was yesterday in chemistry.

The boy, who now was apparently named Gabriel, turned around and broke into a stupidly large, childish grin. "Hey, buddy!" He chimed, "Balth wasn't feeling very good this morning so he's not gonna be here." His smile faltered for a moment as Castiel's face fell, but he quickly continued, "Poor sucker got sick on the second day of school, huh?"

Castiel's gaze flickered between Dean and Gabriel for a moment before he asked, quietly, as if it were meant for Dean not to hear, "Can you call him? Or take me home?"

Gabriel shook his head, "Sorry Cas, no-can-do. You have to stay here, and I can't make Balthazar come." Hesitantly, he added, "You're gonna have to tough this one out."

"I want to go home," Castiel argued, his tone still hushed but rising in anger.

Gabriel tried to reason, "Come on, it's only one day. You'll be alright."

"_I want to go home_," he repeated, louder.

It was at this time that Dean realized he could easily escape and pretend he was never here, but he seemed to be held in place by sheer curiosity. Damn it.

"That's not gonna happen," Gabriel said, firmly. "Look, Dean is going to help you out and make sure you're doing alright, and that's the best we can do. You want to hang out with Dean, don't you?"

Castiel blinked, glared at Dean, then shook his head. "No."

Apparently, Gabriel was surprised by this answer. "Well, I'm sure he's a great guy," he stammered, looking desperately to Dean for help. "And Balthazar told me he's pretty funny, too."

Unsurprisingly, Dean doubted this was true. Either way, he made no offer of assistance. The less he was involved in the family drama, the better.

"I said I don't want to hang out with Dean. I don't need his help. Or anyone's."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Oh you don't need anyone's help? Then why do you keep asking me to call Balthazar?"

Ouch. It was obvious that Gabriel was beginning to tread dangerous waters; Castiel's face crumpled up in a narrow-eyed pout with an internalized rage that seemed too great for his body. He didn't respond.

"Did you take your pills this morning?" Gabriel asked, changing the subject.

"You ask me that every morning," Cas replied, his voice full of blatant hurt. "And yes, I did. Obviously, you think they're not working."

Double ouch. Dean had to hand this one to Cas, despite the slight offense he had taken to his comments earlier; Gabriel was a real dick.

It was Cas's decision to then end the conversation. He hardened his glare, cast one last look at Dean, and stormed down the hall, towards the lobby. Helplessly, Gabriel called after him, but he quickly gave up, realizing that he had only a few minutes before class started. Before he could say anything more, Dean followed Castiel's suit and started off in the same direction.

God, he hated this; he felt dirty doing this to Cas and his family. Then again, it was the dumbass in the v-neck that had dragged him into this. Fucking _Balthazar_. Dean would bet actual money on the fact that the bastard probably wasn't even sick—he probably just skipped school so he could force all of his shit onto Dean for the day.

How considerate.

Still, however, Dean decided it was best to not think about it. Or rather, he'd let it stew in the back of his mind and then get _really_ mad about it later. Thankfully, he didn't have any classes with Castiel or his dick brother that day, so he didn't have to think about the encounter for the rest of the day. He did, however, fold up the paper with Cas' contact information and put it in his pocket. Whether or not he actually intend to text him, he had no idea.

The rest of the week was pleasantly uneventful. Dean found himself easily falling into the swing of his new school, and he had even talked to a few people on more than one occasion; he met a really nice girl named Charlie, and she was very welcoming but a bit socially awkward.

Surprisingly, it turned out that Balthazar actually had strep throat that Tuesday when he missed school, which Dean found comfort in. As an added bonus, Cas made no attempt to talk to him, even during class. Rather, he sat as far over as he could at the lab table, picking at his pink eraser.

It was a perfect compromise, but Dean knew it was too good to be true.

His fantasy was soon crushed on Saturday afternoon as he was sent out to his front lawn to grab the paper. He happened to glance at the small park across the street from his house that was almost always empty, what with there being no playground and hardly any maintenance, with a few trees that were no good for climbing and a bench or two. Essentially, it was a simple, triangle-shaped field of grass.

Today, however, a single figure sat, wearing a tan trenchcoat, hunched over on one of the wooden benches. Dean frowned, inwardly, recognizing immediately the grumpy demeanor and uncombed black hair; it was Cas. He cast a glance back towards his own house, abandoned the newspaper on the front porch, and strode towards the park, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Why he bothered, he had no idea. The only reasonable answer that came to mind was, "Why the Hell not?".

He made an effort to make noise as he walked so he wouldn't scare Cas, but he still jumped in surprise when Dean cleared his throat. He looked up abruptly, narrowed his eyes and sat back against the bench. Bad sign, Dean thought.

"Hey, Cas," He said, waving as he approached the bench.

"Did Balthazar make you come over here?" Cas fired back, arms crossed, purposefully turning his head away.

Dean stopped in his tracks. "No I just––" he gestured to his house across the road, "I live around here and I saw you and I wanted to say hi." He shrugged, hoping he didn't sound as pathetic as he thought he did.

Cas nodded and replied, "Yes, because Balthazar made you. He wants me to 'get off his ass'."

"Come on, that's not true," Dean lied.

No response came.

Dean groaned, "Look, crabby, if you want me to go away just tell me to piss off. I just wanted to say hi, with no ulterior motives or…whatever."

"I'm not crabby," Cas mumbled, smiling slightly behind a fake pout. Nonetheless, he scooted over to make room for Dean to sit next to him. "I'll have you know, I've never been on his ass in the first place. He doesn't let anyone touch it."

Dean blinked, took the offered seat, and said, "Your brother Gabriel is a dick, by the way." It wasn't until now that he noticed what Castiel was wearing: a plain, black t-shirt with a navy blue cardigan under his khaki trench, which was completed by a pair of red flannel pajama pants and no shoes, and he still wore the Star Wars watch (the time _still_ reading 1:53) and the mood ring. It was blue this time.

Cas pursed his lips, "I assume you're talking about Gabriel?" When Dean nodded in confirmation, he continued, "I disagree. He's as not much of a dick as he is just irritating."

He paused for a moment, as if in thought, then turned to Dean, his eyes wide. "You've seen the Black Fish documentary, right?"

"What?" Dean frowned at the off-putting change in subject. "No, why does it matter?"

"Well," Cas started, taking a big breath as if he were about to tell a story, "It's all about this orca whale named Tilikum and how he got involved with Sea World. I highly recommend it, though I wouldn't suggest watching it unless you have some tissues nearby, it's quite sad. Although there has been quite the controversy over whether or not all of the information is credible, but I do enjoy the whale sequences. The whales in the wild, that is. It's quite relaxing to watch them swim."

Jesus Christ, Dean had underestimated this kid. Quickly, he tried to steer the conversation back on track. "Yeah, okay. We were talking about your brother. What's his deal?"

"Which one? I have several."

Dean sighed. Conversation, at this point, was looking to be a challenge.

"Gabriel, Cas. We were just talking about him," Dean said, doing his best not to sound as annoyed as he felt.

Cas tilted his head and narrowed his eyes until he seemed to recall the conversation. "Yeah, he's not much of a dick as he is just irritating."

Dean groaned and tilted his head back, "Oh my god–– Just forget it. Never mind."

Cas swallowed, seeing he had upset his company, so he turned and faced straight ahead, looking across the park. When Balthazar had told him that they lived near a park, he had anticipated a nice, wide open place with benches and playground equipment, or at _least_ a swing set. This dinky, brown-green field was a little saddening at first, but Cas quickly discovered that he enjoyed the scenery and interacting with nature––what little nature there was. He, however, was not yet sure if he enjoyed the company that came with it, though he appreciated Dean's attempts at kindness.

"Do you live around here?" The question came far softer than Dean's earlier tone, which relaxed Castiel in the slightest.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and pointed out a house that was about half a block down the road. "I live there," he said, glancing at Dean briefly to confirm that he was paying attention.

At once, Dean turned towards Cas, appearing shocked. "You live _there_?" he asked, in disbelief. From what he could tell, Cas was pointing at a huge house that Dean had looked at with awe from the moment they moved into this neighborhood. It had a huge front yard, a wrap-around porch, a balcony, the works. It was pretty much––in the least Barbie way possible––Dean's dream house.

Self consciously, Cas lowered his gaze. "Yes, I don't see what the problem is," he murmured.

"There's not a problem," Dean replied, gentler still. "I'm just kinda surprised cause I didn't know anyone lived there at all. Plus your house is like, gigantic. Are you guys rich or something?"

Cas shrugged, "We require large accommodations. I have a big family."

"How big?" Dean persisted, showing clear interest. It made Cas happy.

"I'm not sure what your standards of family are," Cas said, pulling his knees up to his chest as he spoke, "But I have three half-brothers, one step-brother, one brother, and one sister living with me all of the time. Then Balthazar and Hannah live with us on the weekends. The rest of my siblings are living on their own, or they're in custody elsewhere. And my father is the head of the household."

Dean sat back in the bench and tried to process for a second or two. Even with such a large house, he could bet that it wasn't nearly big enough for that assload of––what, eight people plus Cas? And the way he had listed off his siblings so nonchalantly made Dean wonder how many more there were.

"Jesus," he said, finally, "I've got a brother and my dad."

Cas nodded, slowly, and turned back to face Dean, his eyes tired. "That must be nice," he replied, longingly. "Is it quiet?"

Dean resisted the urge to laugh out loud; his father, an ex-marine and strong believer in yelling at your kids, was just about the last person he would call 'quiet'. However, for Cas' sake, he nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty quiet."

A silence hung between the two for a moment as Cas smiled to himself, twirling his ring between his fingers. His attachment to the mood ring was something Dean had noticed during class and chose not to comment on. He still didn't believe he had the right to ask, no matter how tempting it was. Thankfully, Cas interrupted the silence for him:

"Balthazar keeps asking me if you've texted me," he said, flatly, casting a side-glance at Dean, looking suspicious. "And I know you don't think Balthazar is making you be nice to me, but he is."

Dean sighed and shrugged. "He gave me your number and your email and I guess I haven't gotten around to texting you. And yeah, he wants me to text you, but I'm not letting him order me around."

Cas nodded, seeming to understand. "That's alright. He can be a control freak."

"Give me your phone," Dean blurted out, holding out his hand before he could stop himself. Cas immediately, though confusedly, complied, digging into his pocket and setting his phone into Dean's outstretched hand. Dean searched through the phone till he found the contacts and added his own number, before handing the cell phone back to Castiel.

"Text me," he explained, "Just whenever. If you want to, I mean. Like, if I forget to."

"Okay," Cas said, glancing at his phone as it buzzed in his hand. He read the message and looked back to Dean, apologetically. "I should go home, my Dad wants me back."

"Alright." Dean rose from his seat, feeling awkward, and turned to walk back across the park to his house. Then, he turned back around and waved goodbye, quickly hiding his face as soon as he figured Cas had enough waving. He almost never felt this awkward around people, but talking to Cas was like learning a whole new form of English. It was slightly stressful, and he quickly decided he didn't want to brood on it. Instead, he shoved it back in his mind with all of the other "Don't think about later" things.

Meanwhile, Cas still stared at the place where Dean's fingers had brushed his own while giving him his phone. He had been wary of Dean at first, but it was starting to look as though he might be actually making a friend. It was scary. The whole realm of a social life with anyone outside his family was scary to Castiel; he had been family-oriented his whole life. Perhaps it was a good change, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. The whole thing was likely to fail when Dean started to meet more interesting, better people in school.

'_But I'll treat myself,'_ Cas thought, proudly, as he pocketed his phone and ring, and marched off towards his house.


End file.
